


Poppies For You

by paintedlilies



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, Gen, Heartbreak, Reminiscing is all fun and games until you start ugly crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:40:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26492077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedlilies/pseuds/paintedlilies
Summary: Undertaker reminiscences meeting Molly G. on a summer day while tending to her gravesite.  Bittersweet.
Relationships: Undertaker (Kuroshitsuji)/Other(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Poppies For You

**Author's Note:**

> Keep in mind that "Alaric Callows" is **not** his real name. It's an alias for the present as we don't know his true name for the present. Molly G. is one of the names on his locket, so this is a _heavily headcanoned_ way of how they first met, and how he feels about her at present in canon.

#136649 woke up to a rather cool autumn. Brisk, he could taste the frost on the outside. Long fingers grip the back of the chair he had been using as a means to prop himself up, staring out the tiny kitchenette window. 

“Ye up hm, Mistah Spook?” A chirpy voice asked. He blinked, turning his attention to the young woman whom beamed up at him. “Third time in a row! Yer almos’ there!”

“Only because of your gentle ministrations, Miss Molly.”

“Bah, ye’s got ‘em stubborn streaks.” She reached up and tugged on the braid she had put in. “Ye sure yer not runnin’ from those Jacks? They’ve been lookin’ fer a cove filching things.”

“No, I told you.” #136649 chuckled, tapping her nose with a broken, black nail. “I wasn’t hiding from these ‘Jacks’ you speak of.”

“Ye speak posh. Toff are ye?”

“No.” #136649 grimaced. “Not toff. Just well learned.”

“Merchant.”

“If you insist.” Molly made a face at the taller man. She never understood him, in between his cat napping and occasional mutterings of some ‘Dispatch’; the young Irish woman wasn’t keen on what sort of troubles he carried. But her mam didn’t raise some slacker, nor a cruel-heart. Though she damn near thought he was dead by how deathly pale he was, and how he seemed t’not breathe. 

_‘Mistah Spook’, indeed!_

“So’s what ye plannin’? Gon’ head back t’where ye came from?” She asked, curious. A tiny bit of her hoped not. In the few short weeks they’ve been together ( slightly against their will ), she’d come to find the strange man interesting. A relief, when the man shook his head. 

“Got a name?” She asked, “So’s I don’t always keep callin’ ye ‘Mistah Spook’.” He shook his head again, and Molly hummed. “’Ow about Callows? Ye look like a Callows. Or a _Ó Dubhshláin_ now that I think o’it.”

 _Blink._

#136649 laughed, wheezing laughter; faint and airy. “You never stop talking, Miss Molly.” An offended look from the young woman, and he held up a hand, “Nothing wrong with that. It’s refreshing.” 

_Huff!_

Molly crossed her arms and legs, at the knee. Right over left ( how improper! ), as she glowered at him through her lashes and bangs. “Ye a cruel-hearted man, Callows.” A faux pout. “Wots an Irish lass like meself gon’ do wif such a cruel-hearted man?” 

“Allow him to beg a boon?” #136649, newly minted as Callows said, offering a brief, apologetic smile. Molly kept the look up until he bent his head in apology, and her stature relaxed as she gave a warm smile. 

“Ach, I could never toss ye out like that. Say, got a first name?”

A shake of his head, and Molly hummed to herself. 

“Alaric? ‘Ow’s that fer ye?” The shinigami merely shrugged. He didn’t care. Names were just a label. His own was deeply buried. No one knew it, no one would. 

He’d take it to his second grave. 

“Alaric ye be then! Alaric Callows. Got’s a nice ring t’it if ye ask me~” She sang, hopping up to fix them some tea. It wouldn’t be the best of the lot, but Molly figured if he had a problem with it; he could say so. The soft noise of Alaric leaving the chair caught her attention, and a small frown. Was he going back to bed so soon? “Alaric? Ye okay?” She asked, looking back to see that he was studying the rudimentary planter box she had set up. 

“What are these?”

“Oh!” She came over, handing him a mug. “Poppies! I love ‘em. I know th’Queen on high says they’s banned, but I can’t help it. They's so cheerful.” #136649 blinked at that, looking up to Molly’s face, catching only the smile before his gaze drifted back down to the flowers. 

“Poppies...” He said softly, tipping his head. “I see.”

\----

Summer was her favourite, and it was why he was here today. Undertaker settled in front of the grave, a bundle of poppies to place before the headstone. No one came here anymore, save for him. Yet, that was okay. He understood that no one knew who’s grave this was, but he knew. 

He knew, and that’s all that matters. 

“Poppies are still your favourite, aren’t they?” He asked, partially to himself. His hand reached for his lockets, seeking out the one for Molly. “After all these years.” 

_Poppies, for you._ He remembered surprising her with them the day before she died. She had a theft where someone had stolen the ones she had been caring for. While he couldn’t find the culprit, he at least found her new ones. They had been her one solace in the world while she tried to get by. 

_Oh fer me? Ye shouldn’t have, Mistah Spook!_

Mistah Spook. 

A flicker of a smile, a tiny laugh, as he reached out and gently brushed away some stray dirt from the marker. 

_What’re ye laughin’ at?_

“Nothing, m’dear. Nothing at all.”


End file.
